Saturday, October 26, 2013

A bit of Real(i)ty

AUGUST, 2013

Selling a house is one of the most stressful activities a human can do.
First, there is the unnaturally clean state you must keep your house in.  Your table looks like you are having a formal dinner for four that very evening, even though it has looked like this for a week and a half and the plates are starting to get dusty and you can see a few strands of dog hair on them and there are only two people who actually eat at your house so the stack of fancy plates and silverware must be moved for every meal and now you got spaghetti sauce on the tablecloth where a plate doesn't cover so you have to wash everything and start all over again tomorrow.

It just so happens that you also have two white dogs that have a daily contest to see who can out-shed the other on your very dark wood floor and even though you vacuumed thirty seconds ago, one of your dogs likes to walk directly behind you and drop hair on whatever you just cleaned.  This particular dog has massive water-storage capabilities in his jowls and loves to tank up, trot over to the floor you just mopped, and leave drips and dribbles in a path that goes to every single window and door, leaving some impressive eye-booger specimens 16" off the ground everywhere in your house.  To make your entire floor clean all at once, you shut both dogs into a back room, then vacuum and mop.  Just so you know, you have one of those vacuums where the air is forced through the contents of the bag (which claims hepa-filtration) and the bag contains nothing but dog hair so now the entire house smells like dog.  Unfortunately your house does not have air conditioning so the only way to get rid of that smell is to open all of the windows of your house and release the cool air that you trapped the night before, thus calling attention to the fact that your house has no air conditioning!

All of the rooms in your house are now simultaneously spotless, albeit hot, as you sit like a tightly-wound coil while watching for somebody to pull into your drive.  It could be any time in the next hour.  Finally, two cars pull in and you snatch up your dogs and try to quietly make your way out the back door of the garage.  By now your dogs are very hot and angry for having been shut in the laundry room and very thirsty because you had to hide their water dish in order to make it look like no dogs live in this house.

Then there is the part where you must leave the place that holds all of your stuff and go walk around the block in blazing heat while a stranger paws through your stuff in order to determine if you are a worth-while enough human being for them to purchase your stuff-holding place.  Then the neighbors begin to watch you suspiciously and look up the number for the local police department because this is your 6th time around the block and now every dog in the neighborhood is clawing and snarling at you through the windows while destroying your neighbors' miniblinds.  


Finally you are forced to walk by the bit of your subdivision that has your house in it just as the person that has been pawing through your stuff walks out the front door so you smile and wave, hoping they don't recognize you from the photos on the walls of your house and instead mistake you for a really nice neighbor (with very hot and angry dogs) and decide that this is a great neighborhood to live in, despite the fact that it is 1:30 in the afternoon and this prospective nice neighbor looks unnaturally friendly, is dripping with sweat, and taking a walk at the exact hottest part of the day.

Now you have to do this a good 15 to 20 times until one of these strangers decide that your stuff-place is someplace that they could be forced into owning in order to keep their stuff in, but only if you sweeten the deal by agreeing (in monetary terms) that your stuff-place is indeed a festering labyrinth of bat guano and you are really doing yourself a favor by paying closing costs, thus pawning your GuanoHome off onto somebody else.

Then there is the part where it sinks in that you might have just agreed to sell your home and, oh yea, you are planning on moving into a trailer even though you have never been trailer-camping even once in your entire life and your entire new living space is smaller than your former dining room and your husband can't stand fully upright in your new shower and WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!?!?


But it is too late to look back.  Our house is sold and a closing date is set!



3 comments:

  1. Take a deep breath - you'll all be fine! I went through the same thing - sold a 3 bedroom house to live in my '74 Tradewind together with my Aussie Mickey. The difference is that my trailer is far from being ready to be lived in, so I'm living in a tiny room at a friend's house while working on the TW. It was incredibly liberating to get rid of all that "stuff" which is really totally unnecessary, and just keep what is absolutely needed. Downsizing is hard but feels so good at the end of the day. Look forward to your new adventure you have ahead of you. You have your "Hubs & Pugs" and an AWESOME small aluminum house on wheels - what else do you need ;-). Hang in there and greetings from California! Martina

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  2. There is so much left to get rid of...I am kind of disgusted by the amount of unnecessary STUFF we have accumulated!! Thanks for the encouragement, Martina!

    p.s. What a sweet Aussie you have. Does (s)he like being in your TW?

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  3. Mickey just loves to be anywhere his mommy is; I'm very lucky to have such an easy going, up-for-anything partner in crime. He is only 17 months old and we had already a bunch of adventures together.
    Keep up what you are doing, close your eyes and power through it - it's just stuff (and shoes ;-(...! It's like ripping off a band-aid - just do it! Everything can be replaced if you really need to, but there is so much fun and adventure ahead of you that dwarfs the importance of shoes, I promise!
    Keep up the good work - hugs to the Pugs and the Hubs...

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